Cullen Couture
by Darthishtar
Summary: The year is 1975 and Rosalie and Alice decide to celebrate their latest graduation from high school by hitting Fashion Week in Milan. This is a response to a President's Day challenge to have the Cullens or Hales meet a historical figure. Guess who...
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

_Rosalie_

Alice is difficult to describe. She has all of the hunting enthusiasm of a starved wolf and the perkiness of a cheerleader. The last time we went to college, she majored in Russian and before that in fashion design. She can go from discussing the best way to take down a bobcat to a desperate need for a manicure within the same sentence.

In short, Alice is my sister and I dearly love her, but she is not the sort of person I would like to take on vacation.

Edward wasn't exactly thrilled with the idea, either. He claims that unleashing the two of us on Europe is like letting a class of finger-painting six-year-olds loose in the Louvre. I wish he would give us more credit. We're not rampaging lunatics; we're just vampires with an advanced sense of style.

Still, Carlisle was reluctant to let us leave the country without his supervision at _all. _Sure, it's been decades since any of us crossed any borders other than the Canadian one, but he is being extremely overprotective. I think that if Alice hadn't possessed the foresight to know what would convince him to let us go on a graduation trip, we would still be sitting in his office and he would start to get sentimental.

Alice brought up the idea in the same way a marketing executive presents a new ad campaign. I vetoed pie charts and essays—she had a strange fascination with both during our most recent trip through high school—but she still insisted on pecking out an itinerary on the typewriter so Carlisle could see that we were serious.

Our first argument was that it was high time that we acquainted ourselves with the world. Our second reminded him that we had been responsible adults for over five decades and could almost certainly be trusted to take care of ourselves. Our third was that last time we had graduated, he'd barely noticed. Lastly, both of us had finished with higher honors than the last time. In short, we _deserved _an adventure. We would even have a time limit—all of the things in our itinerary could be crammed into spring break. Instead of hanging around Moose Head Lake or hitting the beaches near Castine as our fellow students did, we'd actually _go_ somewhere.

In spite of that ridiculous itinerary and the lack of pie charts, Carlisle agreed to send us to Italy on a few conditions:

We pay our respects to the Volturi.

We stay somewhere with easy access to hunting ranges.

We call home every other night so Esme doesn't worry more than usual.

We agree to a budget.

Neither of us was happy about the first and last ones, but it was a small price to pay for what we wanted and, all things considered, Carlisle was fairly laid-back.

Emmett rolled his eyes when we announced that we were going to spend some time with just us girls. He probably wanted to come with us as a kind of bodyguard and I rather like having him around, but the Red Sox are playing the Yankees while we'll be gone and he and Jasper would be parked in their usual seats at Fenway for the duration. Instead of demanding to know when we could have some 'just us' time, he kissed me and said he trusted me. Being married four times to the same person does that to you.

Jasper wasn't so easy-going. He hasn't been with Alice as long and it's not that he's jealous. He just wants to make sure no one can lay a hand on her. I cajoled Emmett into getting him excited for what they could do without their old ladies around. Ironic, since Jasper's supposed to be the calmer, but sometimes, it's a case of physician heal thyself.

Edward, always playing the older brother, wanted to give us chastity belts for graduation until I let him into my head and reminded him of what both of us would do if we were ever unfaithful to Emmett and Jasper. He doesn't have a mate yet, so he doesn't really get it yet. I think it's a result of spending sixty years eavesdropping on teenage boys.

Esme, on the other hand, spent most of the drive from Bangor to Boston's Logan airport in one panic or another. We'd all heard about Patty Hearst's kidnapping in 1974 and Esme was convinced that we would end up disappearing in one way or another. No matter that the Volturi would find us if the police couldn't and there was no such thing as 'unforeseen danger' when it came to Alice. Even if we did run into trouble, we're too fast and too strong to be overwhelmed. Besides, I don't think the Symbionese Liberation Army would give us a second thought. Not the female members, anway.

Still, it's comforting to know that we can all be just like a normal American family sometimes.

_Alice_

The cab ride from Peretola Airport to Volterra wasn't too bad. The guy whose license said his name was Alfonso kept ogling us, but I think it was mostly because we were the only people wearing winter clothes and hats in the 80-degree weather. Rosalie was wearing a flared knee-length dress that buttoned at the shoulder, full-length stockings with her stockings and a slouch hat. I was sporting my new white bell bottoms with a sky-blue hip-length tunic and had a wide-brimmed sunhat of my own. He was either trying to figure out what we did for a living or remembering the last time he had chauffeured stylish American girls.

Rose spent most of the ride perusing _Carrie,_ a book by local author Stephen King. The cover claimed it was "A novel of a girl with a frightening power," but Rosalie just looked bored by it. I had picked up a copy of Vogue the moment we found a newsstand in Boston and spent the drive earmarking the clothes I wanted.

I had nearly gotten to the end when Rosalie tapped one long nail on the partition. "_Qui, per favore."_

"_Si, signorina," _Alfonso called back, sounding relieved.

I wasn't in the mood to climb to the Piazza dei Priori where we were supposed to meat Giovanni in clogs. On the other hand, bringing a human to Volterra was, Carlisle had said specifically, bad form. Instead, we unloaded our bags, paid Alfonso and strolled up the long road to the Piazza.

As usual, we made it about five feet before someone offered to carry our bags. It's the price you pay for being as natually adorable as we are. We managed to shake them at the fountain by saying we were waiting for our boyfriends. Luckily, at that point, I spotted Giovanni. Of course, I hadn't met him before—this was the first time either of us had been to Volterra—but I remembered Seeing an amusing conversation about mountain goats between him and Carlisle.

"Come on."

"Alicia and Rosalia," he greeted as we reached him. "I hope your journey was not too taxing."

"It was fine," I replied.

"Come with me."

We didn't ask questions, only followed him down one alley and another to an opening in the street. He slid through and immediately, Rosalie's lip curled.

"Is he serious?" she hissed. "This dress is _new."_

"Quite serious," his muffled voice responded. "My hearing is perfect and my English is not."

Actually, other than a heavy accent, his English was just fine. Without waiting for Rosalie to voice another objection, I dropped into the hole after him.

"Sorry," he said as Rosalie followed gracefully. "Someday we build elevators, no?"

"Lead on," she said irritably.

The Volturi had set up headquarters in one of the older buildings in Volterra, but Giovanni took us no further than the part that looked like a professional business office. There was a lounge to the left of the atrium and he ushered us in.

"Teresa will be with you in a moment," he promised. "Is there anything I can get you? A pint of B positive made by fresh young Italian men, yes?"

It was obviously his idea of a joke, but he was either ignorant or trying to be insulting. For Carlisle's sake, I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"Nothing, thank you," I told him. "We're fine."

"_Meraviglioso,"_ he called over his shoulder.

Rosalie shot me an annoyed look as if his personality were _my _fault. Before I could say anything, the door opened again and an elegant woman entered. She was dressed in a pinstriped suit and but for the dark-red eyes, she could have been an average businesswoman.

"Good morning," she said in nearly-perfect English. "You are Alice Cullen and Rosalie Hale?"

"We are," Rosalie replied.

"Wonderful," Teresa sighed. "We do not receive many American visitors and you are so _young_."

"We've been this young for decades," I quipped.

"Thanks for having us," Rosalie added.

"My pleasure." Teresa sank into the chair closest to me, looking conspiratorial. "You are going to Milan?"

"We have reservations at the Villa d'Este in Como," I corrected.

"Ah, the _Alpi," _she said approvingly. "I have heard they have a wonderful Alpine ibex in that area."

Rosalie relaxed slightly at the sign that _someone_ knew to respect our dietary habits.

"But you are for delights of a different kind," Teresa continued before either of us could respond. "De la Renta, Chanel, so on and so on. You will need a fast car, one of ours."

Rosalie's eyes had glazed over just a little at the names of the designers, but it wasn't until Teresa mentioned a fast car that she got the look usually reserved for Emmett.

"I couldn't agree more."

**Author's Note: Hello and thank you for reading this. I am Ish, your friendly neighborhood polyglot. I hope you have enjoyed Chapter 1 because after several months of trying to get a story to work, this is my very first Twilight fanfic. I'm having a lot of fun with this story so far simply because I get to do a lot of research. If you're wondering, a few notes on things in this story:**

**I am a Red Sox fan. Because the Cullens did not always live in Forks and they needed a place to live in this story, I chose Maine. Castine and Moose Head Lake are two of my favorite places on earth, but Milan and Como, Italy outrank them. And thus the baseball-obsessed Jasper and Emmett are Red Sox fans.**

**Patty Hearst was kidnapped and held for ransom. She began to relate to her captors and was later convicted for aiding them.**

**Stephen King, also a Red Sox fan, published _Carrie_ about two weeks before this story takes place. He is from Maine, hence the reference to the "local author Stephen King." The fact that Rosalie is bored by it is an homage to Eowyn77 and her husband, who both agree that Rosalie's tale in _Eclipse _would make the world's greatest horror film. What's a psychotic loner compared to a murdered ex-fiancee who kills you while wearing a wedding dress?**

**The fashions that Alice and Rosalie are wearing are actually from pictures that I have found of hot trends in the '70s. This originally started as an idea for "Cullen Family Album" challenge, in which there is a picture relating to something in their history that demands explanation. Eowyn77 suggested Rosalie in polyester and bell bottoms. Alice would want to be on top of the latest vogue and 1975 is when bell bottoms started actually becoming very popular, according to my research. And it would look funny on someone of her height.**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

_Rosalie_

Alice insisted on 'sunbathing' as soon as we reached the Villa d"Este. She had a new camouflage bikini that she'd been dying to try and, according to her, this would be our last chance I grudgingly donned my blue monokini and joined her on a lounge chair.

I had to admit that it was nice. It was too overcast for anyone in their right mind to be out by the pool. It didn't stop the guests of the male persuasion from ogling us. Since the pool was on the lake rather than on the hotel grounds, they had to go out of their way to be hormonal, but a dozen men took a detour. We heard pickup lines in six languages. but we had other things on our mind.

"You've got to be kidding me," I informed my dear, misguided sister. "I'm not going to pass up the Chanel after-party so you can go to some nobody's show!"

"He's not a nobody," Alice reasoned. "He's been working for Cerruti since the sixties and I _know _you approve of that."

Of course. When Carlisle took us to Paris for a friend's funeral in '68, Esme had let us drag her to Cerruti's boutique on the Rue Royale. Esme had ended up demurely buying a bottle of perfume, but that hadn't stopped us spending all of our souvenir money on couture.

"Fine," I sniffed. "We'll sit in the back and slip out if it turns out to be horrendous."

"Come on, Rosalie," she chided. "It's not going to be horrendous. Give me some credit."

"You want to miss the Chanel _party_," I reiterated. "If you're wrong about this guy, you owe me a dress."

If she was wrong about this guy, she would probably get me one of his pieces. Alice wasn't spiteful, but she had a stubborn streak when she wanted to show it.

"Besides," I added. "I've got that new de la Renta to show off and I'm not letting it go to waste."

The thought of that great halter dress being seen by only a couple hundred people who had the bad taste to see the womenswear line of an Italian suit tailor was nauseating at best and horrifying at worst.

"If it's horrendous," she mimicked me, "we'll head back to the Chanel party after the first ten minutes."

That sounded too conditional, but it was probably the best that I was going to get.

"Promise?"

She nodded solemnly and stuck out her hand. I shook it emphatically.

"I've been looking forward to airing that dress out since..."

She got that mischievous look on her face that meant she had Seen something that I wouldn't like very much. It made me trail off and look nervously at her.

"Don't worry," she said airily. "It'll be put to good use."

"How do you know?" I challenged.

All right, that was a ridiculous question. I had to cut her off before she went into a detailed description of what exactly she Knew and what she had Seen.

"He designs men's _suits."_

"And does a very good job of it," Alice countered. "There's no reason to think that he won't do as well with women's clothing."

"We'll see."

She ran a hand through her hair. "I'm going in before the sun comes out," she said.

"I'll tweak this," I said as she stood and headed for the edge of the pool. "How long do we have?"

"Sixteen minutes," she replied.

"Good," I said. "We need to get going in about an hour if we want to have time for dinner."

We'd agreed that we'd hunt before we even went near Milan. It was safer that way and it would be much easier to focus on the fashion when we weren't thinking about how delicious the models smelled.

"Sure you don't want to come in?" she asked, dipping one toe in the water.

"And ruin my hair?"

Alice rolled her eyes and dove in. When she emerged, her hair looked almost exactly the same. When your hair was that short, there was very little you could do to muss it up, no matter how hard you tried.

As soon as she went under again, I reached for my pen and tweaked the Armani show off of the list. She'd never miss it.

_Alice_

I was gracious. I have to say that, all things considered, I wasn't as hard on Rosalie as I could have been. Watching her face through the whole thing was worth hearing her grumble about "nobody-show-waste-of-time" on the walk across Milan.

Because I was gracious and because I love Rosalie, I waited until five minutes into the Armani after-party to say "I told you so."

"I wonder if there's a way to get our hands on something for Esme," Rosalie said without acknowledging that she had been wrong. "She and Carlisle always go to that benefit in Seattle and I'm pretty sure that she would look better in that last dress than that model did."

"She would," I agreed, "but that's not Esme's style."

Rosalie gave me a pointed look. "Esme can _make _it her style," she said firmly. "If we gave it to her for her birthday, she would politely wear it at least once so we didn't feel unloved. That could be all it took."

"So, you enjoy the show," a man's voice said from behind us.

We both turned to see yet another handsome Italian man standing behind us. The encouraging thing was that he didn't seem romantically interested in us at all.

"Yes, we enjoyed the show _molto," _Rosalie enthused. "It was wonderful."

"I shall have to tell Giorgio that two lovely Americans think he is wonderful," the man said with a glint in his eyes. "We not sure that many come tonight. Our first year."

"Sometimes, new talent is the best," I pointed out, smirking at Rosalie. "_Signor _Armani should be very proud tonight."

"_Grazie," _he said. "Allow me introduce myself. Sergio Galeotti. Giorgio is my...business partner."

My jaw dropped unflatteringly. If the rumors were true, he was not just Armani's _business _partner. We'd been standing here talking fashion with the co-founder of the Armani line. I resisted the urge to pull at the high neckline of my cerise dress and tried to look natural.

"Rosalie Hale," my sister introduced herself.

"Alice Cullen," I stammered. "I had no idea that we were..."

"_E bene," _he said dismissively with a smile. "May I offer you two a drink?"

We weren't supposed to drink at all—Esme didn't approve and we were underage anyway—but it wouldn't affect us at all. After all, there were much worse things we could be drinking at a human party.

"Thank you," I said, accepting the flute of champagne. "_Salute_."

They both repeated it and we drank. We would have to spit it up once we left the party, but we were sharing drinks with Armani's _partner_ and mingling at a sophisticated party. Rosalie was going to owe me for the next ten years.

"You said your friend Esme like one of our dresses?"

"Our mother," Rosalie corrected.

"Ah," he sighed. 'If she have beautiful girls, she beautiful, _no?_"

"Very beautiful," I assured him.

"Let us talk," he suggested. "Maybe we arrange something..."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

_Bella_

It was the first real day of Summer. The sun was shining, the temperature had skyrocketed to 80 degrees and Charlie had suggested that I celebrate with a bowl of ice cream. I suspected this was more envy than encouragement, since he would be stuck at the police station until after dark.

Instead of giving into temptation and going to La Push to enjoy the decent weather, I was being a good girlfriend. Edward had enticed me into coming to his house and admittedly, I didn't need much enticing.

We were currently curled up on his couch with our shoes off. I was nestled into the space between Edward's legs, my back against his chest and a photo album open on my lap.

"What on earth is_ that?_"

"A wiglet," he identified the hairpiece. "It was the 60's and Alice got tired of her hair. She wanted a fancy updo for prom and the closest we could manage was one of those things."

"So you got her a toupee for prom," I laughed. "I never thought she was the type."

"Not now," Alice said from the doorway, "but I learned my lesson."

"Yes," Edward recalled. "She and Jasper were walking to the car and that thing got caught on a low-hanging branch. Alice didn't notice until halfway to the school that she had left half of her hairdo in a tree back home."

"I thought this was the summer when we were going to get Bella to like us," Alice protested.

"I like you a lot," I rejoined. "Seeing embarrassing pictures just helps a little."

In fact, I thought it was a brilliant idea. If I could see the Cullens in slightly-less-than-perfect states, it might help me feel more at home.

The next picture in the album didn't help one bit.

"That picture is amazing," I said, running one hand over the glossy print of Alice and Rosalie. "Who took it?"

"Some photographer from _Vogue,"_ Alice replied casually.

So much for less-than-perfect. I nearly dropped the album. "You've been in _Vogue?!"_

Alice grinned broadly. "Not quite," she corrected. "Rose and I were on spring break in Italy and we were talking to two nice Italian men when someone took that picture."

I squinted at the picture, trying to identify what kind of nice Italian man would end up in a fashion magazine. "Who exactly..."

"Armani's the one on my left," she said plainly. "Rosalie's the one talking to his boyfriend."

"_Armani?"_

If_ I _recognized the name, he was important. I was one of those types who couldn't remember how to say Dolce and Gabbana, much less spell it.

"I convinced Rosalie to go to the show in '75," she explained. "He'd started his own line in '74, but he didn't design for women until a year later. Rose didn't want to go in the first place, but she finally saw sense. We just happened to meet Sergio at the party afterwards."

That sounded exactly like something that would happen to them. One had to wonder who else they'd just happened to meet.

"And you just happened to be in _Vogue," _I reiterated.

Alice grinned. "No, no, no," she corrected. "They ended up using a different picture entirely. Giorgio sent this along with Esme's dress by way of apology."

My first instinct was to say something brilliant along the lines of "I don't believe this," but there was no reason _not to._

Edward's arms reached around my waist and closed the album. "Enough for now," he suggested. "After this, there are pictures of me in bell bottoms."

"Hey," Alice objected. "You have to be embarrassed, too."

"My room, my rules," he rejoined.

"Fine," she sniffed. "In that case, I'll tell her why we ended up at an Armani show in the first place."

He laughed quietly as he kissed the spot behind my ear and pulled me closer. "Be my guest," he invited.

"Well," Alice said with a grin, "I Saw into Edward's future and when I saw his wedding, he was wearing an Armani suit. I thought I should take a look at what he was getting himself into."

I didn't think that I could look more shell-shocked, but Alice was apparently trying to see how far she could push me before I snapped.

"And now?" Edward asked.

She grinned and turned to go, calling her answer over her shoulder: "Same suit. Now I just know who's wearing the Vera Wang."


End file.
